Weasley's Guide to Starting a Business
by Juliette
Summary: Two years out of Hogwarts, Fred and George Weasley are 18 and are trying to establish Weasleys Wizards Wheezes. They devise a fool-proof plan to sell their new product, Caramel Drips to Honkeydukes. Will the plan work? Complete short story rated PG-13


georgePOV A/N: This is my first Fred/George story, and I wanted to make it a bit different. My take on the 18 year old boys is that they are growing up and trying to establish themselves. Like all young adults, they do dirty things, hence the PG-13 rating. The story is written in George's first person (another first for me). I tried to make this short story as in-cannon and realistic as possible. Enjoy! ~Juliette 

Weasley's Guide to Starting a Business

Told by: George Weasley 

"I'm sorry Mr. Weasley, but we can't do business with you until your Caramel Drips are patented with the Department of Magical Services." The old man extended his hand, which I reluctantly took. 

I was about to plead that, _no, no one had ever made, much less heard of, Caramel Drips, and that there was no need to get them checked out because that would cost money… money my brother and I lacked. Once we'd made enough, of course we'd go straight to the Ministry and have all our projects magically patented_ (this meant that someone trying to copy them would turn into a frog for a week). Instead, all I managed to say was, "mark my words, those caramels will make us rich some day, and I'm sorry you didn't want to be a part of that Mr. Branstone. 

I left without further interaction. I was frustrated by our situation. It has been two summers since Harry Potter had given Fred and I his Triwizard Tournament prize money before getting off the Hogwarts Express. The money had long since been converted into Potions ingredients and various other necessary business expenses, and we were no closer to starting a joke shop than when we were selling Canary Creams in the Gryffindor Common Room. 

I moped around Hogsmeade, smiling as I slowly passed Zonko's. There was a new clerk sitting behind the counter. She was lazily flipping through _Witch Weekly_. I quickly noticed how young she looked, as well as familiar. Without thinking, I pulled open the door and boldly walked into the same joke shop that I had spent every Hogsmeade weekend in during my Hogwarts years. Everything from the _ting, ting, ting_ of the bells hanging over the heavy door, to the smell of the shop was familiar. It had been too long, I realized, since I had last been back to this place. 

"Hi." I looked around; it was the witch sitting behind the counter at the back of the store. I realized that I was the only other person there. 

"Hey," I replied, making my way toward her. She neatly put her magazine down and lightly ran her fingers through her wavy brown hair. "Can I help you with something?" she smiled. 

"Ah, it depends. See, I was just passing by and thought you looked familiar," I replied coolly. She smiled again and then blushed. 

"I'm Monica Cauldwell," she said, extending her arm. This time I affably took her hand, but instead of shaking it, I kissed it lightly. "Well…" she blushed. 

"George Weasley," I said. 

"George," she repeated. "Twin?" 

"Yes. But I'm George," I further clarified. 

"I was a Ravenclaw, a year ahead of you," she said. I nodded, barely recalling Monica the prefect who had once sent us to Filch for having a water balloon fight with Peeves one rainy afternoon. 

"I remember you," I laughed. 

"Yeah… I was a little bossy, but I think I've outgrown that. Besides, you're cute," she teased lightly, leaning over the counter so I could clearly see between her chest. We looked at each other for an awkward half moment in silence. Then she touched my cheek and told me that I looked like a devil in an angel's disguise. 

An old, balding man who I recognized as Mr. Zonko came out from the back room after that, putting an end to our flirting. "Monica, wait on the customers… I'm going for lunch… and sweep the back when that goof ball leaves," he barked madly. "Oh, hi Weasley," he said, noticing me as he passed. There were still no other customers to speak of. 

"Sorry about him," Monica whispered as the door shut behind Mr. Zonko. "He's my mother's older brother, and she begged him to give me this job until I get my license from the Ministry to teach primary school here in Hogsmeade." 

"Oh," I replied, sorry that we had gone so off topic. 

"Yeah… anyway…" 

"Say, do you want to go out some time?" I asked, knowing very well that I had no money to go on dates. 

"Ok," she smiled. 

"I'll be back in Hogsmeade this weekend, you won't miss me." 

"Next weekend… aren't the Hogwarts kids coming? You'd better make it a different day because it's going to be too crowded in here to talk." 

"I know, but I've got some business with Mr. Branstone from Honey Dukes," I said holding up the bag of Caramel drips. "I'll see you then, and we'll make plans for a different night," I winked. 

"Ok," she smiled. I leaned over the counter and kissed her lightly on the cheek and then left, feeling rather content with myself. My contentment slipped away as I bitterly remembered that I had failed to sign _Weasleys Wizards Wheezes_ on to Honey Dukes. We had spent all summer working on enhancing sweets. Perhaps our time would have been better off spent making gags for Zonko's, although old Mr. Zonko was not looking good these days. 

Who let these old geezers run these stores anyway? Oh well, I sighed, Zonko's niece was cute, even if she didn't have any power over the store. 

I checked my watch. It was nearly two o'clock. There was no one in the Burrow besides Fred. Ron and Ginny were at Hogwarts, in their seventh and sixth years respectively. Bill and Charlie were in Romania and Egypt, and Arthur and Percy were hard at work at the Ministry. Molly, who had always been a housewife, hadn't been seen around the house in several months except for a few hours here and there. She didn't discuss where she went or who she saw, but Ron had admitted to having seen her leaving Dumbledore's office one time. 

I removed my wand from my robes and Disapparated. The Burrow had been an Apparation-free zone ever since the summer after the Triwizard Tournament. The closest one could get to the house was about a half a mile away. 

The walk home was pleasant. It was already a few weeks into spring; the flowers were finally blooming and the trees were growing green leaves. There were all types of noisy birds and little animals, and I happily kicked a gnome over the fence as I made my way through the garden. 

I had grown used to the Burrow's newfound silence over the past few months. During the summers and when Fred and I were children, there was always hustle and bustle around the house, which we added to with loud experiments in our bedroom. Even the attic ghoul, it seemed, had simmered down. This was to Percy's delight, but for me, I often had trouble sleeping without a ruckus coming from above. 

When I entered the house, there was a noise coming from the upper floors, though. At first I thought it was laughter, but I then realized it was a less innocent sound, and I became furious. I took the stairs two at a time and burst into the room that Fred and I share. 

"Fred!" I screamed. It wasn't often that I got mad at my twin brother, on the contrary, we got along well because we knew each other inside out; but I hadn't seen this coming. Fred had sent me alone to Honeydukes, insisting that I was the best business negotiator, only to bring his girlfriend over to have a good shag in the empty house. 

"By God, George! You scared me there for a moment, I almost thought you were Percy!" 

Angelina Johnson emerged from the tangled sheets, very naked and very hot. She made no real attempts at covering her smooth chocolate skin for me, as if I was nothing more than Fred's reflection. 

"Hi George," she said cheerfully. "How'd it go with… er… that man from Honeydukes?" 

"Not well," I said, gritting my teeth. I was furious at Fred, and I wanted him to notice. 

"Well," Angelina said, finally wrapping the sheet around herself, "I'm sure you men need to discuss your business plans, so I'll leave you to it." She walked around the bed and gathered her clothes in a bundle. "I'll be back in a sec to say bye," she said, then disappeared into our bathroom. 

Fred watched as the last of the bed sheet was whipped into the john, as the door slammed shut. I could tell he was avoiding my eyes. He shuffled his feet, looked curiously at his fingernails and even counted freckles on his left hand. That was something I did when I was nervous, which was not often. 

Angelina emerged from the bathroom in a flatteringly low-cut violet spring dress with an off-white, casual, light robe slacking from her shoulders. She wore one slip-on sandal, and proceeded to crawl under Fred's bed after the other. Fred didn't take his eyes from her bottom-side until she emerged a moment later with the sandal in her hand. 

"Well, bye then," I said, intending to leave the room to wait for my brother to finish his business so we could get on to ours. 

"Wait George…" Angelina sputtered out, grabbing my wrist. I turned around and felt my face go red. "You've always been good friends to me," she said. Where the heck was this going? "I just wanted to say thanks, I guess." 

"Ok, your welcome," I said. She pulled me into a hug and then kissed me. I couldn't be certain whether she was going to kiss my lips or my cheek, but she got a bit of each, catching the very corner of my mouth. It was a quick peck, none the less, and absolutely nothing compared to the kiss that she gave my brother. I hadn't known that two people could kiss with their entire bodies like my brother and Angelina did. I figured if I ever kissed a girl like that, I could die happy. 

After Angelina left (via the fireplace), Fred casually sat down on his bed, not bothering to straighten out the bed sheets (all of which were all over the floor), and then had the nerve to ask for details on my assignment. 

I sat down on my own bed and just stared at him for a few seconds, knowing that it hurt him when I did this. In those rare times when we're mad at each other, we know how to make each other feel sorry about whatever we did. I could tell Fred was sorry, but I was too pissed to feel bad about making him feel bad. It was getting too confusing, so I gave up and straight out asked, _"how?"_

"George… she just sort of…" 

"What, don't tell me she Apparated into our bedroom," I snapped back. 

"No, she just called… _you know…_ through the fireplace, I told her you weren't here and she just came over, you know how it is with us." 

I knew only too well. Fred and Angelina were an on-again, off-again couple. Neither could resist the other, but Angelina's needs seemed to be greater than Fred could offer. I tried to stay our of their shaky relationship as much as possible, but it was starting to interfere with our business. 

"Do you love her, Fred?" I asked. 

Fred looked at me funny for a moment, and then replied, "I think so." He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around awkwardly. "I don't know, I think so," he repeated. 

"THEN TELL HER!" I shouted. 

"Ok, ok," he said. And after that we didn't talk about it. 

I told George what had happened in Honeydukes. We agreed that we needed to bring our work to the patent office in the Ministry, but we also knew that we didn't have the money. There was only one thing we could do; we had developed a plan B to be used in as a last resort to get the deal with Honeydukes. That afternoon, we set to work making the preparations. 

We found mum's old cauldron under the sink, being stored with a shrinking charm. We took it with us down to the basement, lit a bunch of candles around the moss-filled room and set to work making Caramel Drips and other Weasley Wizard Wheezes for the rest of the afternoon. 

I can't remember when we had so much fun, to be honest. I felt as though we were still at Hogwarts, sneaking off to an old, unused potions room in the dungeons of the castle, to make Canary Creams. On occasion, we had invited our mutual friend, Lee Jordan down with us, but he didn't share our desire to make them for a living. At eighteen, Lee was already a professional Quidditch Commentator for the Appleby Arrows. He sent an owl once in a while, and even came to eat dinner at the Burrow a few times a year, but we had, for the sake of careers, grown apart. 

Mum had returned to make dinner that night, and seemed pleased that we were keeping the house in order, for the most part. Since she had started working for Dumbledore (that was our best guess at what she was doing), mum had given us less of a hassle about our career (or lack of), and was often just content to know that all of her children were safe for the time being. She worried the most about Percy, though. He worked unremitting at the Ministry, trying in vain to correct what had happened to his boss, Mr. Crouch two years ago. 

Also in vain, Mum explained to Percy that Mr. Crouch's son had been dark, and the entire thing was tragic, but certainly not his fault. She seemed to know an awful lot about the situation, which only confirmed that she was somehow involved in the fight against the dark lord. Mum had to put her head into Percy's office through the fireplace to get him to come home for dinner. At last, dad came home with Percy in tow, only to have him excuse himself from dinner to go back to the Ministry to finish an important report. 

By Saturday morning, we had fifteen cases of goods, and were ready to go. We found an old folding table and two chairs in the basement, sized them down and then headed toward the brook where were could Apparate to Hogsmeade. It was nearly 10 o'clock, perfect. 

When we got to High Street, Hogwarts kids were just beginning to enter the village. They looked so light-hearted despite everything that had taken place over the last two years. It was their last weekend before going home for Easter, and Hogsmeade was always a treat. 

We quickly set up our table and chairs somewhere between Honeydukes and Zonko's. We had some classic gags such as a few old fake wands and a revised line of hiccup candy that we hoped would not go unnoticed by old Zonko during the commotion. That was part of our plan, at least. 

A growing number of students began to wander toward Honeydukes and Zonko's, far too excited to take any notice in us. I grew more and more excited as we lay out the food and plugged little signs announcing their names and prices. Then Fred unraveled a large poster and magically tacked it against the brick wall behind us. It simply read, _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes!_

"You need a motto," a black-haired boy said, a chunk of Honeydukes' fudge in hand. 

"Harry, old boy!" I exclaimed, happy to see our first (and only) ever sponsor. 

"Here's a free Caramel Drip," Fred said, handing him the individually wrapped caramel. Ron eagerly reached in to take one off the platter. "That'll be 10 knuts," Fred said in a serious voice. 

"No… _Fred_, you know I haven't got 10 knuts." Hermione Granger laid down her purse and lay the coins on the table for us. _"Hermione…"_ Ron started in the same tone. They'd been dating for over a year, Ron having finally grown up enough to realize that he was deeply in love with her. It was lucky that Ron's maturity had finally caught up with his hormones, because she had been about to give up and settle for Harry. 

"Forget it, you can pay me back later," Hermione whispered, plenty loud of enough for me to hear. My poor brother turned red, but grinned none the less. 

"Ok," he whispered back, slipping his hand into hers. They started walking away, hormones raging without control. Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes at his best friends' backs as they left. 

"I'm meeting Cho at the Three Broom Sticks," he said, glancing casually at his watch. "Thanks for the caramel, good luck," he said, shoving the small candy in his pocket. 

"Cho Chang?" I asked. He nodded. "Ravenclaw seeker?" I further inquired. 

"Yeah, that's her," he said as if she'd recently won a Moaning Myrtle look-alike contest. 

"Ok, have fun," Fred said, herding Harry away from the table. "Ready?" he asked as soon as Harry was well on his way. 

"Yep." We both grinned and nodded. Simultaneously, we shot red and blue sparks out of our wands to obtain attention, and then Fred pressed his wand to his throat and magically magnified his voice. "Boys and girls! Students of Hogwarts! Come and test the brand new _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes_ original… Caramel Dips. We've also got…" the whispers and footsteps of approaching students drowned out his voice out. 

There was a mad rush of students. At first they wouldn't buy, just gawk and try to get as close to the table as they could. It was a well-respected rule (which is of course we we'd never followed it) that only third years and above could visit Hogsmeade on designated weekends. Since Fred and I had graduated only two years ago, we were well known as mischief-makers to all the ogling students around us. 

It quickly became a mob scene in a matter of moments. Students were running into Honeydukes and Zonko's to pull their friends _out_. We were tossing sweets and gags at kids as they pushed toward the front. We couldn't keep up with the money, so we accepted all tips as they were thrown at us in return. 

"Fred, I think we're going to run out," I shouted over the noise. Children's noses were growing everywhere we saw, now that the Caramel drips had taken effect. They were daring each other to take them and laughing at the results. Their new noses were up to six inches long and liquid caramel began to drip out of them without control. 

"But look," Fred pointed. Mr. Branstone was pushing through the children, trying to get to the front of the commotion. Behind him was a small girl who couldn't have been more than a third year. 

"Daddy, they're so much fun," she said, pulling on his robes. Her nose was dripping caramel all over her fingers, which were tugging at her father's robes. 

"Be quiet, Eleanor, dear," he said, prying her sticky fingers off his robes and continuing his odyssey towards us. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, pointing at his daughter's nose. 

"They're Caramel Drips, might remember them from our meeting last week," I said casually. Mr. Branstone looked around him uneasily. He was completely surrounded by laughing children eating the caramels and other food gags and. Some were probing their fingers into their noses and eagerly licking them clean; there were even a few canaries flapping around here and there. I could tell that Eleanor Branstone was a girl who always got what she wanted out of love. She was easily the ultimate daddy's girl, but at the same time she couldn't have been that bad or she would have been a Slytherin rather than a gentle Hufflepuff. It seemed ironic to me, or maybe I was just missing something there. 

"How much are we talking for these?" Mr. Branstone asked in a bitter tone. 

"Hold up!" Another adult pulled himself through the throng of students, holding a magical checkbook in his hand, his silver hair standing out like a neon sign against a black background. It was Mr. Zonko. "I want a say in all this nonsense. I WANT THOSE CARAMELS!" 

"Now, I think I have fair rights to this product, they came to me first," Mr. Branstone said firmly. The crowed of students around him pushed back, waiting eagerly to see how the situation would play out. 

"CAME TO YOU FIRST, EH? AND WHAT DID YOU SAY, MY NIECE SEEMS TO THINK THAT YOU TURNED THEM DOWN, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?" 

"I THINK YOU'RE FULL OF CRAP, ZONKO!" 

"Daddy!" Eleanor insisted, obviously upset by her father's tone. 

"Be quiet, Nora, daddy's trying to do business with these men," Mr. Branstone said rather calmly to his daughter. 

"I'm not a little girl, Daddy," Eleanor insisted, but her comments went unheard. 

Fred and I were laughing hysterically. Plan B had worked beyond its original perimeters. Mr. Branstone and old Zonko were at each other's throats fighting for the rights to our work. I caught Monica's eye and winked. She smiled sweetly and rolled her eyes at her uncle's direction. "We'll make plans," I mouthed at her. 

"Ok," she mouthed back. 

"Let's go into my office, Mr. Zonko purposed, firmly holding his Gringotts check book so we couldn't miss it. 

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Mr. Branstone said. We're going to settle this here and now. One-hundred Galleons for the rights and 20% profit off all your goods." 

"One hundred galleons? You're stark mad!" Zonko shot back. "I'll give you three-hundred galleons and 25% profit with a nice discount for all your purchases to my store…" 

The crowed of students started shouting in support for either side. Most were going for Mr. Zonko who seemed determined to get the rights. Many of the Hufflepuffs (yes, imagine that) were supporting Mr. Branstone for their classmate Eleanor. 

"FOUR-HUNDRED GALLEONS! It's the last offer I'm making." Branstone reached into his robes and withdrew his own checkbook. 

"Go home, Branstone," Mr. Zonko said calmly. "Five-hundred galleons… I think that pretty much rebates all you boys have spent in my store over the years, eh?" Fred and I grinned. 

"Deal," said Fred. I nodded in agreement. 

The entire street exploded into applause. Fuming from the ears, Mr. Branstone shoved his way back to his empty and forgotten shop. I figured he'd go back to selling his wife's wonderful fudge and eventually get over it; I felt no remorse in embarrassing the man who had turned us down for being a bunch of boys without a patent. 

We still don't have our own joke shop. No, not yet. But we will, some day. Even though Voldemort has come back, we know that if we can make a few people laugh, the Wizarding world as we know it will not collapse. That's what Fred and I want to do with our lives. We also want people to remember us. I don't think that will be a problem, though. Anyway, we're one step closer to bringing _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes_ to the world. 

*** 

Epilogue as told by George 

Two months later, Fred asked Angelina to marry him, but she promptly said no. A week later, she came back to him, crying, and told him that she loved him and wanted to get married. 

As for me, I've been dating Monica Cauldwell for over two months now. Monica quit her clerk job at Zonko's upon receiving her license to teach magical primary school. She lives in a small flat near Hogsmeade and teaches in the village. She helped Fred and I pay for our patent license from the Ministry, which we are still waiting to hear back on. 

How does the name Monica Cauldwell Weasley sound? I asked Fred once, and he only laughed and told me I was insane and in love. He said they're basically the same thing, but I guess I'll just take his word for it.   


(Lots of ) disclaimers and info: 

Here is a good map of Hogsmeade: [http://www.i2k.com/~svderark/lexicon/atlas-b-hogsmeade.html][1] it was created by Steve Vander Ark and I claim **NO** credit. I based the arrangement of the twin's table according to the locations of the stores in the map. 

More disclaimers: J.K. Rowling created The Harry Potter series and all recognized characters in this fic belong to her. The Fred/Angelina shipper was inspired by Ebony (AngieJ) from her wonderful series Trouble in Paradise, although none of the information given in that series holds truth in this fic. 

Further, I based Mr. Branstone on two things. First, we know that a husband and wife run and live in Honeydukes. In the GoF, a girl named Eleanor Branstone is sorted into Hufflepuff. She would be a third year during the time period of the fic, which makes sense that she is in Hogsmeade. 

Monica Cauldwell is Owen Cauldwell's older sister. Owen was also sorted into Hufflepuff in the GoF. I recognize that Mrs. Rowling owns both the Branstone and Cauldwell family names. No infringement is intended.   


Oh yeah, please review :P   


   [1]: http://www.i2k.com/~svderark/lexicon/atlas-b-hogsmeade.html



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